Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. I came to see you on my own account.
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